• PROLOGUE •

twenty years ago

I need your help. Tallis, please, I need you.” The Sun. She was back.

Tallis of Pendray  wanted to jerk free of his dream. He wouldn’t listen to her exotic, lilting seductions.  He would wake up this time. He would.

“You try my patience and break my heart,” she whispered. “You’re fighting me when there’s no need to fight. Don’t wake. Stay with me. Stay . . .”

Her steely words were coated with sweet honey. This was the sixth time she’d slipped into his nighttime mind. Five times previous, he’d refused  to obey unthinkable entreaties spoken by a wide, smiling mouth. Five times previous, he’d awoken to the dawn sunlight streaming through  the windows of Castle Clannarah,  convinced he was losing his mind.

By the Dragon or the Chasm, he wasn’t going to look himself in the mirror come morning and ask the same questions.

Is she real? Is she right? Am I going mad?

“Always the same worries in that fevered  mind of yours.”

“You’re in my mind,” he replied, although his voice sounded metallic and distant. “It will always be fevered.” “I’m afraid that’s true.  You deserve  better  than all this confusion.”

Tallis wanted to wake, but there  was a reason he’d endured her nightmare appearances. Again. And again. And again. Colors glistened on her skin, as if she were a woman made of light rather  than flesh. The swirl of her silken gown created  yet another  shimmer  that ha- loed her entire body. Dark hair with caramel highlights swished back to reveal ethereally perfect features. Eve, Helen of Troy, Lady Godiva—none of them would com- pare. How could they? They were human.

The Sun was a Dragon King.

Tallis was, too, but she made him feel like a com- moner crawling in the dirt just to bow at her feet. She had chosen him. Who was he to deny the wishes of a goddess  when she offered  the warmth  of her  golden attention?

“I’ve asked  you before.”  She hovered  just out  of reach, but her breath  brushed his cheek. “Are you ready?”

“I can’t,” he rasped. “What you ask . . . It’s obscene. It’s criminal. I will not kill for you.”

“The true crime is what has become of your people. The Pendray are ready to rip one another to pieces. You are so few in numbers compared to the other Five Clans. Soon you’ll be as lost as the Garnis, reduced  to a few frail remnants who’d rather spit at one another than claim kinship.”

“Murder will stop more murder?” “Shhh.”

She placed a hand to his brow. Tallis hissed through his teeth.  It was the first time she’d touched  him. His body went rigid so quickly that he feared he’d wake. He didn’t want to, not now, not when she was finally skin to skin. He closed his eyes and absorbed  the soft warmth of her fingers threading  into his hair. He sank deeper into the realm of sleep.

“Tallis.” She said his name with a slice of warning. As with the hours after sunset  when cool shadows reign, the Sun’s withdrawal  was just as chilling. Tallis reached  out to grab her hand, but she slipped away. A frustrated growl reminded him of his capacity to do harm. A beast waited in his blood—the Pendray gift from the Dragon—and that beast was rousing from its sleep. “You want me in your arms,” the Sun said, her voice bold with confidence. “Yes.”

“And what else?”

“I want you beneath  me.” “And?”

“I want to be inside you.”

She smiled as if she’d already given permission and was only waiting for him to grab her and lay her down. “I want that, too. Shall I show you how much?”

He nodded, or he thought he did. The dream world had become  as real as the North Sea, with its icy aqua waters. He loved the view from the top of the crest, just north  of his family’s ancient  castle. Although the sea’s waves were a roiling tempest, they had the  opposite effect on his thoughts. He was always calm when looking out across that imposing scene, knowing his people had mastered  its waters for millennia.

This was real. As real as the sea. “Show me,” he said. “Please.”

The Sun began to disrobe. She wore a sari worthy of an Indian princess. That she slid into his dreams meant she was likely Indranan, those of the Five Clans blessed by the  Dragon  with telepathy.  Whether real or tele- pathic didn’t matter  when she unwrapped gossamer layer after layer to reveal the pristine, luminous skin of a naked woman. She was breathtaking. Breasts tipped with pale gold. Waist and hips a perfectly symmetrical set of curves. Legs long and elegant, all the way to her pointed  toes. She tossed back her hair and spread her arms skyward, as if she were the one worshiping an an- cient pagan god, rather than a goddess presenting  her- self to Tallis.

If he was mad, he didn’t care.

“Whatever  you want,” he said. “I can’t . . . I can’t resist anymore.”

“You make this sound so terrible,  Tallis, my hand- some one.”

“Beheading  a priest?  Of course  it’s terrible.”  Lust hummed through  his body, burning  with the strength of an angered  animal caged by iron bars and prodded from all sides. He was aroused, hard, aching. He craved sanity, but he was willing to forgo it for what he really craved. Violence. Sex. The freeing release of both.

She shifted  so that  her  mouth  was merely  inches from his. “Right now, you want to kill. You’d kill me if you could.”

“I would.”

“You won’t. You want to make me happy.”

She was nude, beautiful, and so very close. But that could’ve described  any woman. The Sun, however, was hypnotic. Every time Tallis thought  he could peer through  the soft rays of light that surrounded her and blurred her features, she shifted. He saw only what she wanted him to see. She was the ultimate mystery, even when she presented herself  as a vulnerable,  stripped goddess.

“I’ll make you happy, too, Tallis. Let me show you.” She kissed him.

Lip to lip. Then deeper.

Without words she gave Tallis permission to unleash

his gathering violence. They kissed like Pendray in the midst of a berserker rage, where pleasure  and pain merged  into a ferocious dance  of push, pull, scratch, claw.

He had her in his arms. Yes.

He had her stretched beneath  him. Yes.

But as Tallis gripped his ready cock and positioned the head between her wet folds, she was gone. He thrust into nothing. He bucked and fought, howling his frustra- tion, spitting with anger at her and at himself. She’d taken him so far. She’d given him so much.

She’d snatched it all away.

He couldn’t see himself from that dream perspective, but he felt the embarrassment of kneeling and being unable  to hide his erection.  Shame  burned  his cheeks as he looked up. The Sun was hovering again, clothed  again, smiling as if she hadn’t just teased him within an inch of insanity.

“Get back here,” he growled.

“You’re not giving orders,  Tallis. We have so much to do. And I have more to do than show you my bare skin.”

He blinked and looked at her again—and froze. She was no longer hovering but riding a dragon as real as anything he’d ever beheld while conscious. The creature was even more real than the Sun, who continued to shift though myriad colors and forms.

“Do you see? You and I are bound. I will tease you, cajole you, even pity you. You will hate me and worship me. And in the end, you will do as I bid because we have both been chosen by the Great Dragon.”

The magnificent creature turned its face toward Tallis. Strong ridges outlined  its brow and hid small, dark eyes. It wasn’t scaly but layered with what appeared  to be endless varieties of fabric, in shades of black, orange, blue, purple, a fiery red—anything  a waking eye could behold.  The effect was radiant.  Every movement  rip- pled across its long torso and forked tail. It bared  its teeth in a wide grimace. A lolling tongue appeared  just before a burst of flame and a snort of smoke escaped.

Elegant  and eternal,  the Dragon  was so humbling that Tallis hugged the ground in a deep bow. He shuddered.  He could no longer look upon the creature  that had birthed their race, knowing his eyes would burn to cinders and madness would follow.

The Sun rode the Dragon. A true goddess.

“You know what I say is true  and just. Our people are dying.”

He didn’t lift his head. The dream had become the most astonishing nightmare. “We can reverse that?”

“Yes, we can. The Chasm isn’t fixed.”

Chilly air rippled  across his back, accompanied  by the swish of flapping wings. The Sun traced two fingers beneath  his chin, lifting, so that they looked each other in the eye. The Great  Dragon  was near yet far in that way dreams  could warp perspective,  yet she still rode upon its back like Boudicca into battle. No mist or light or golden silk swirled between them. He clearly saw the color of her eyes. Amber. The swirling amber of a con- suming  fire—the  fire breathed by the  Dragon  as it began to fly away.

“I will let you touch me every time we meet,” she said, her voice receding. “One day, I will let you unleash that monstrous temper and take what you want from my body. Take from me. I will be yours completely.”

“Fix the Chasm. How?”

“You kill for me. Whenever  I ask. No matter  who it is. You’ll behead one Dragon King after another. We will rid our people  of those who sow discord and hatred. Only when we achieve unity will we be able to heal what has been bleeding for thousands  of years. Our people. I command you just as the Dragon commands me.”

She’d won. Even without the miracle of witnessing their Creator, the tingle up his spine whispered that she would’ve won anyway. She always would.

“I’ll be hated. I’ll have to flee. Leave my family. I’ll never have a home after tonight.”

The Sun blew him a kiss before fading into darkness. “Yes, dear one, but you will always have me.”

• CHAPTER •

ONE

Kavya’s thoughts were weighted by responsibility, and the ever-pressing knowledge that the Dragon Kingswere a people on the edge of extinction. That meant the collection of faithful gathered  in a craggy notch in the Pir Panjal foothills of the Himalayas was exceptional. From her secluded place behind an altar made of bur- nished orange granite,  Kavya extended  her awareness into the vast crowd.

She was especially heartened to feel so many as- sembled from the Indranan, one of the Dragon’s sacred Five Clans. Her clan. The telepathic Indranan had been divided for three thousand  years of civil war. Northern versus Southern factions. And for reasons every Dragon King knew too well, they were collectively known as the Heartless.

Although physically sluggish from bearing the man- tle of her  duties,  Kavya cleared  her  consciousness  of outside thoughts. She would need the full extent of her limited telepathy  for the task awaiting her. Today was special. Intimidatingly so. She would make her first ap- pearance before these hundreds who’d traveled the globe to see her in person.

To see the woman they’d dubbed  the Sun.

Kavya waited until exactly noon to ascend the altar’s few makeshift granite steps. This moment was her bur- den and her joy.

Standing  tall, she sucked in a shallow breath.  “So many.”

Before her extended a valley, like a deep bowl being held by rocky, jutting fingers. Evergreens were scattered throughout, but few dared set their roots in the valley’s steep  walls. Worn  canvas tents  of varying sizes were packed  side by side—countless grains of rice in that mountain bowl, seasoned by smoke from small cooking fires. Despite  having grown up in some of India’s most populous cities, Kavya had never witnessed an assembly to rival this, with so many minds and senses working in concert, focused as one.

On her.

A gust of cold air rushed  down  from  the  slopes. Whispers—those given voice and those passed from mind to mind—faded to nothing. That late autumn wind blowing through  crevices became the only sound.

“So many of you,” she said, with volume enough to be heard. “Welcome. Oh, thank the Dragon. Welcome.” She worked to steady the pitch and cadence  of her voice. She hadn’t dubbed herself the Sun, but that’s what most had come to expect—radiance and incandescent light. Kavya had fostered  that image for years, for her own anonymous safety and to promote  the growing in- fluence of her cause. People responded to symbols even more readily than to earnest people. People could have agendas; symbols had the power to transcend suspicion born of rational thought.

She needed  to become everything to everyone. No sudden  movements.   No  reason  for  anyone  to  turn around and walk up the valley pass.

Especially the Indranan.

Her head already throbbed from the effort. After all, she had been  born  as one of three  triplets.  She possessed only a third of the Dragon’s gift.

“I’m humbled  by the distances you’ve traveled and the seas, mountains,  and plains you’ve crossed to join me here. You are the first of a new age. Northern and Southern  Indranan together,  sharing the same air and the same hopes for a future forged of trust, not continued spite. Some of you come to us from the other four clans. I welcome you and ask for your aid as we of the Indranan work to heal old hurts.”

Even members  of Clan Garnis were present.  They were known as the Lost, but they weren’t extinct. She could pick out those rare minds as if finding diamonds among dust. They were skittish among the press of so many bodies.

“Our people are dying,” she said bluntly.

Many gasped. Some cried out in quiet despair. Kavya extended  her  hands  before  clasping  them

together—a woman giving a gift, a woman begging for help. She was both. “Please help me. We must not be the ones to bring about our own extinction. Previous generations  turned  away from the truth. We will be the last if we follow their example.”

Looking out, she couldn’t identify any particular face. Instead she saw black—the ceremonial robes and saris of the  Dragon  Kings, each accented  with their clan’s color. The Indranan were the exception in that they did not wear a uniform shade of blue. Those from the  north  of the  Indian  subcontinent wore the  pale turquoise of a high  mountain  sky. Those  from  the south wore the deep  ultramarine of the ocean coast- lines they called  home.  A trio of Indranan women, roughly eighty years old in middle age, stood nearest to the  altar with upturned faces. Two Northern and one Southern.

Holding hands.

Astonishing.

“Each of our Leaderships  know that conception has become nearly impossible. Not even the Dragon King Council  can deny that we are a dying race—we,  who have shaped  the civilizations of this world from their infancies. What would each culture, each continent,  be without  our influence?  This has led many, dare  I say most of our kind, to believe us better  than humans.”

She paused,  breathed, recentered. An Indranan could only touch one mind at a time. To mentally project the image of an appealing yet unassuming woman—one who radiated  the indescribable shine her followers longed to worship—she individually brushed  that impression over every mind in the valley. Over and over again. She used her gift at a speed  beyond conscious thought,  a skill she’d honed  through  the years as the number of faithful increased. If she became too impas- sioned, she lost her trancelike concentration. Yet passion was exactly what she needed  to impart.

Those few followers she knew personally were out there  somewhere,  among the rapt throng.  She wished she could find one of them, to derive a measure of com- fort, like a familiar blanket  to hold during long, frigid nights.  Knowing she was in the  right  would have to shore up her courage.

“What’s the use of thinking  ourselves  better  if we can’t hold children of our own? The time has come for reconciliation,  and through  reconciliation  will come solutions—and the future we long for.”

Her  words must’ve touched  her followers because the murmurs  that had threaded through  her soliloquy strengthened into applause and even shouts of approval. “At dusk this evening, I will make an announcement to reward your faith. Some call us a cult. The Sun Cult. But we are not a religion. We all have our means  of worshiping the Dragon. This, our gathering, is a meet- ing of forward-thinking individuals. And finally, with hope, I can say that two such individuals are here among us, joined in a vow of cooperation.”

With a swell of pride  behind  her  breastbone, she once  again  lifted  her  hands—this  time  in triumph. “Northern and Southern, at last you will have better than bellowed accusations of past crimes and threats of retribution. You will use peaceful  voices in thoughtful discussion. As the woman you call the Sun, I swear it.” The applause was breathtaking. Slack, stunned faces transformed. Kavya saw relief and curiosity, but mostly joy. Some embraced or turned to clap each other on the back. None gave any sign of typical clan suspicions, ei- ther  physically or with what  she could  sense  of the crowd’s mood. Neither  Indranan faction seemed to re- member  that they’d warred for countless years, or that fresh blood spilled a generation before—at the massacre known as the Juvine—had renewed  three  millennia of hatred.

Kavya lowered her head and interlaced  her fingers. Her mother had taught her, You can hold our homeland in your hands. The rise and fall of your fingers become our mountains and valleys.

That was Kavya’s earliest memory. Her last memories of her  mother  were  colored  by madness  and an indescribable sense of loss.

She needed  order. Although beautiful, the ridges of rock that marked the far western edge of the Himalayas had no order. Random peaks. Irregular riverbeds. High glaciers that changed with the seasons and the passing of time, and trees  that bent  beneath fierce wind and heavy snow. Kavya aligned her knuckles. None  stood higher than the others. Only then did she feel calmer, which was more important than happiness. Those who’d gathered  in the Pir Panjal could be happy. She still had work to do.

When she lifted her face to the crowd, she unclasped her hands and lowered them straight to her sides. The silk of her sari was more luxurious than any she’d ever owned. She gently toyed with the flowing fabric. “Now,” she said, “our day must continue as it has. With purpose. Join me in the noon benediction.”

She was no cult leader, but she understood the importance  of ritual. The rituals she’d fashioned were an amalgam of practices from all Five Clans. Words from each language. Praise to each version of the Dragon. Affirmation of each special gift. Although the origin of her work had focused on peace among the Indranan, she’d since expanded  her purpose  to include all of the Dragon  Kings. They needed  each other. She was convinced.

Thus the words she spoke in daily blessing were meant to appeal to as many as possible, just as her appearance  was. Once  again, Kavya’s brain—her entire body—ached  from the effort. And once again, she per- severed.

“Eat, my friends. Peace be with you.”

She turned  to the rear of the altar and descended. She was alone. No one followed her. Even her body- guards maintained a respectful  distance  on the other side of a natural archway. She basked in the privilege of lowering her  mental  shields and releasing  the crowd from the spell of her mind. There was no need for anonymous luminosity when she was alone.

Yet she was so very alone. How could she be otherwise?

Pashkah would find her someday. Her triplet would kill her or she would kill him. Relying on even the most devoted follower was a risk she rarely took. That meant hiding her real self. She had long since abandoned the innocent child named Kavya of the Northern Indranan. The little girl she’d been was a photograph faded to gray.

“Very pretty words.”

Her head jerked up by reflex. An Indranan so lost in thought was a telepath  stripped naked of defenses. For a slip of a moment, she couldn’t remember how to hide. The  danger  of her  mistake  shot  flame  through  her bones.

Had he been Pashkah . . .

Instead  the man was a stranger.  Not exactly slim, but  not overly brawny, he straddled  the solid middle ground where muscle and skill hid beneath an unassum- ing exterior.  He  was paler than members  of her clan, although he retained the golden shimmer of the Dragon Kings. And as a Dragon  King, that meant  exceptional male beauty. Dark hair was tipped with glinting silver— not the gray of an old man, but a gleam like the shine of mica flecks. His hair didn’t reach his collar, but it was long at his crown and stood in disarray.

He wore lightweight layered sweaters, cargo pants, heavy black boots, and an open leather coat lined with wool. No ceremonial robes. Just the clothes of a human. The straight, narrow swords that crossed in an X at his back, however, were the weapons of a Pendray. He radi- ated wildness, from that mass of careless hair to the way his relaxed, almost negligent  stance proclaimed  him a killer.

Her gift would confirm what made her senses prickle and cringe. In self-defense, she reached out to learn his identity and his intentions.

And to her profound shock, she couldn’t read his mind. Not a single thought.

“Who are you?”

He walked toward her with swagger, leading with his shoulders.  His scabbards  moved with a hiss of leather over leather. Bright blue eyes narrowed. “You’ll find out before I’m through  with you.”

The Sun was a fraud.

Worse, she was a vile manipulator.

As an upward surge of violence scribbled red across his vision, Tallis of Pendray could’ve been staring at the interior of a slaughterhouse. Droning  pulses of cruelty beat a counterpoint to the rhythm of his heart. He wanted to loose his fury.

He needed to stay in control.

Otherwise  he would never be able to discredit  the Sun and thwart the commands she had thrust into his mind for two decades.

Always dripping in gold. Always riding away on the back of the Dragon.

A berserker rage would ruin  months  of preparation—sensible, rational preparation. Finding her hadn’t been easy. Everyone knew of the Sun Cult, but its ever- changing location had taken him almost a year to pin- point. It was bad enough that the gift of Tallis’s clan, the Pendray, was the mindless fury of a berserker. Because the Sun had deluded him for so long, he’d come to prize rationality. He would not be a pawn to his blood-born impulses or a puppet  to a charismatic charlatan.

Yet . . . she was real.

Some part of him had always feared he was well and truly mad. What if he’d been  acting on a delusion  so clear and all-consuming  that he needed a scapegoat? How convenient  to blame bloodied hands on a woman conjured by a guilty, disturbed  conscience, then top off his mental  self-defense  with delusions of the Dragon. He put away his doubts and laid the gory blame where it belonged—there on an altar of stacked rocks the color of bronze.

His only regret  was that,  truth  be told, the  Sun’s professed  ambition was noble and worth his sacrifices. Her appearances were rare enough to be treasured, but constant enough to reinforce her design for the future of the Dragon Kings. And Tallis’s role in it.

However, the violence he’d guided to the home of his niece, Nynn, had sapped his optimism. Whether the Sun’s plan to unify the clans would protect  the Dragon Kings from extinction was no longer his concern. After what he’d endured, what he’d done, what he’d become for her—he deserved to embrace  a personal grudge.

“You cannot threaten me,” she said, head tilted at an assessing angle. “And you cannot harm me.” “I did, and I can.”

Tallis leapt forward—the fluid, trustworthy  move- ment of a body honed for fighting. One of his seaxes was easy to retrieve.  He grabbed  the woman’s hair, twisted fistfuls in his free hand, and held a razor’s edge of steel to her throat.

Her eyes bulged. She froze.

“That’s right,” Tallis said. “Very still.”

“It’s not Dragon-forged.” Her voice was a near-silent rasp.

“Correct.” A Dragon  King could only be killed by rare swords forged in the Chasm where the Great Dragon  had  lived and  died,  high in the  Himalayas. “But killing you would make you a martyr. Not my intention.”

Her  appearance as she’d addressed  the crowd had struck Tallis like a blow to the jaw. A faint, otherworldly shimmer had surrounded her as would the wavy heat of a mirage. Hair that should’ve been deep brown, flowing in animated  waves down her back, had been  a bland, neutral shade in a style that sat primly on her shoulders. Her  mud-colored eyes had been  wrong, too. Nothing distinctive except for that inviting shimmer, urging people to believe the false front she presented.

Now he was near  enough  to see each lash. Wide irises as rich as amber. Lush hair as luscious as chocolate. Realizing the full extent of how well she could de- ceive others, including Tallis, was overwhelming.

At least her figure matched  his visions. He held her resilient,  athletic  body  close to his. A gold silk sari wrapped around womanly curves he’d seen in the nude.

He restrained a frustrated growl.

The Sun still hadn’t moved, but her lips tilted into a ghostly smile. Nothing  about her seemed  false, yet he could feel the potential for deception  like a slick of oil on his fingertips. His only chance was to keep her dis- tracted.  With the ability to focus on only one mind at a time, his threat of violence might keep her from assum- ing too many of the false impressions she gleaned from other individuals.

“This way,” he  said, yanking her  hair.  The  blade nicked a line of red across her delicate neck.

Delicate? No. It was just a neck.

She deserved no adjectives. He could trust no adjectives.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to anger you,” she said with surprising calm. Only her near-frantic respiration gave away her fear. “But we can discuss it. We can make amends.”

“No, we can’t. Now, this blade is going back in its scabbard. You’re going to walk with me.”

She actually laughed,  although  the action pressed her neck more firmly against his seax. Her laughter was truncated by a gasp as another  streak of red appeared. “How do you expect to accomplish that?”

“You have an announcement this evening.”

“I do.” She still breathed without rhythm.  “It’s important.  More important  than you can imagine.”

“You have done my imagining for too long.” “I’ve never seen you before!”

“Save it. You want to make that announcement, right? Can’t have these people disappointed.”

A gleam of moisture coated brown eyes that matched the rocky landscape of her homeland.  “That’s right.”

“Then we’re walking. Calmly. I hold no grudge against anyone else, but I will do harm if you cause them to interfere.”

“They would demolish  you in a second. We’re the Indranan. Telepathy can be a nasty weapon. You’d live the rest of your life with your body intact and your mind flipped inside out.”

Tallis pulled her hair and brought  their faces to- gether, close enough to share the same chilly air. “How much chaos could I cause before that happened? The precious Sun in danger. A hundred Dragon Kings run- ning scared. Your cult destroyed.”

The woman grasped  his forearm  with both hands. Her  nails dug into his flesh. “You have no right. Why would you plan violence, here of all places? These peo- ple live in peace and they believe in me.”

“And in time they’ll learn the truth.” Tallis held her neck in his palm as he sheathed  his blade. “Just like I did.”

• CHAPTER •

TWO

What’s to stop me from screaming with my mouth and shouting with my mind?”

Grinning tightly, Tallis shook his head. “You would’ve done both already. And even on your lying face, I can see it—you can’t read my thoughts. Frustrating, goddess?”

“I’m not a goddess. My name is Kavya.” He raised his brows. “Very pretty.”

Her jaw tightened. “No. I can’t read your mind. Who are you?”

“Tallis. Search  that piecemeal  soul of yours. You’ll know me.”

“They warned  me,” she said, almost to herself.  “I didn’t listen. How long have you been tracking me?” He was pleased his gamble had paid off. Everyone had heard  of the Sun Cult, but its leader  was elusive. Cult bodyguards  had felt his presence  as he’d neared his objective. They’d reached  out with tap-tap touches into his mind. Curious, then angered. Repeatedly they’d warned her of a coming danger. She’d reached out with her own gift—and sensed nothing. He’d been reluctant to depend  on her telepathic blind spot, but recognizing it had been the genesis of his plan.

There behind the altar, he slowly released her neck. There  was no explanation for why he trailed  the soft, fine strands of her hair down over one shoulder.

She shivered.

No, there  was an explanation. He’d been  seduced by this woman for twenty years. That he’d want to ad- mire her, to touch her—

He cut off his thought  as surely as he would’ve cut her out of his mind, had he been able.

While he’d waited for her to finish her infuriating speech  about peace and hope, Tallis had witnessed a living lie—a slippery eel pretending to be Every- woman. Now he had her attention. The disguise she drew from the impressions of a hundred minds began to slip.

Or simply . . . change. He couldn’t tell.

A man who lived rough in the world learned to trust his instincts, yet his had been  corrupted by the Sun’s voice in his sleeping mind. She bled into every aspect of his life, like placing a magnet next to a compass. His true north was long gone.

For  a Pendray  that  was especially infuriating.  As creatures  of the elements,  his clan had inspired a pan- theon of deities among hearty Celts, Picts, Norse, and Saxons. To remain  so uncertain of the  natural  world would be even worse than losing his berserker  rage.

This woman deceived  everyone  who looked upon her face. Who could trust  her words if she presented whatever facade a person wanted to see?

“I’ll go with you,” she said at last. “Peacefully.” “Good.”

He slid his fingers down her golden sari and clasped her hand,  then  mocked  her with a smile. “We’re just taking a walk.”

“Where?” “My tent.”

She jerked her arm, but Tallis wouldn’t let go. “You’re sick. No one . . . No one—”

“Takes you to his tent? I’m not surprised.  You play in dreamscapes instead.” He adjusted  his hold so that their bodies pressed side to side. “Come.”

Tallis dragged  her through  the stone archway that led away from the rear of the altar. They emerged  into plain sight. Several dozen followers stood nearby.

“They may wonder why you’re walking so close to a Pendray,” he said near her ear. “But they trust you. Ev- eryone you’ve touched with that witch’s mind has come to trust you. So keep walking.”

He tightened  his hold on the low curve of her hip. She flinched and tried to draw away. “Let me go. I’ve come willingly this far.”

Tallis ignored her entreaty.  Too much bitterness needed to be purged  from his blood. “I wonder  how many wish they could hold you this closely. Do you lie awake counting  the minds you’ve warped?  Enjoy be- coming their fantasy?”

“I’ve never done anything of the kind,” she hissed. “I am a peaceful woman. I keep my thoughts to myself.” “Being one of the Heartless  must be useful when you use people the way you do.”

“Clan-based  hatred  is revolting. Don’t tell me you subscribe to those old prejudices.”

“I subscribe to bare facts. A deceiving witch leading gullible worshipers is a threat  to every Dragon King.”

The sun—the  real sun—was arcing westward. The valley would be dark long before  nightfall. The steep angles of the Pir Panjal determined when the rays no longer reached  the earth.  Tallis strained  every sense, trustworthy or not, and steadily guided his captive to his tent.

Then  he shoved her between  parted  canvas folds. She fell to her knees as he pushed in behind her. “Much better,  goddess.”

“Kavya.”

“Fine. Hold still, Kavya.”

She gasped as he searched  for weapons concealed within layers of gold silk. Wiggling away from each touch, she was wide-eyed and edgy. She jerked as if his hands  were hot irons. Tallis grabbed  a rope  from his knapsack and bound  her wrists and ankles. She strug- gled against the hemp, but every movement  tightened the sharp grip.

He rolled her onto her side. “Being helpless at the will of a more powerful force is a scary thing. I never liked it. You?”

Kavya looked away and blinked a sheen of moisture from her eyes. “You could at least tell me what you want! I can help you. Obviously you don’t want to be here.”

“We’re staying put,” he said. “Days will come and go. Your followers will know what I’ve learned—that you’ve deceived them. Wasted their hopes.” He traced a finger along her cheek, down to where blood had dried on her neck. “You’ll witness one disappointed face at a time, until no one will ever again worship a woman named the Sun.”

He retreated a few feet and crossed his legs. Kavya had stopped moving after her initial struggle. Self- preservation? Scheming?  Probably  both.  A woman didn’t rise up from dirt-strewn  slums to command  an army without possessing canny skills.

The Sun was no idiot.

She wasn’t the goddess of his dreams. Neither  was she the plain, almost anonymous orator.

Instead  she was able to gather ready-made  inspira- tion straight from her followers’ minds. En masse. How did she do that?  What if she had the power to affect other  Dragon  Kings the way she’d manipulated him? Her influence could be catastrophic. Not even the Hon- orable Giva, the leader of the Five Clans, could compete with such a rival.

No Indranan should have that much power. No one should.

So he stared. And she did. As the hours passed, they played poker with their gazes.

“You might as well sleep.” His voice was rough, especially since his last words to her had been filled with such bile. He was going to hate her for a very long time. “You would have rested before your announcement.”

Light blazed in her brown eyes, as if mountains could glow. “No, I would’ve been  walking among my people, making sure the agreement I’ve helped broker remains secure. You have no idea what’s at stake today.”

“You’re probably right,” he said flippantly.

She pushed her feet against the hard ground, found purchase, and struggled to sit up. The hemp rope creaked.  The effort  to appear  strong  for pride’s sake must have cost her body. Kneeling on her heels, with her hair a mess around her heart-shaped face, she raised her chin. Tallis was perturbed by his unconscious re- action, because  that subtle  movement  chastened him without a word.

Why did he keep underestimating her? Maybe he remained susceptible to her ways—not to her telepathy, but to her natural  charisma. He couldn’t find a strong line between  the two, which was disturbing as hell.

“You are a bigot and a troublemaker,” she said with a voice made of bells and iron. “Some petty slight has brought this injustice on me. You’re going to ruin every- thing.”

Her expression hardened. Nothing overt. Eyes that had been  passive took on a cold distance.  Her  mouth was shaped by voluptuous lips that pressed into a fixed line. Her  hair was noticeably longer now—dark, with caramel streaks that highlighted its thick richness. Even her cheekbones  seemed  higher  and more  exotic. The anonymous image she’d presented on the altar was completely gone. Tallis’s memory of it lingered like having looked at the sun before closing his eyes, still seeing the image behind his eyelids.

“Your slights have not been petty,” he grated out. “How do you know I haven’t been  contacting  my

people for the last few hours, telling them to lie in wait for you?”

“I’ll take that chance. I’ve been taking it.” He grinned, which actually made  her flinch. The Pendray  weren’t very guarded  with their expressions, and he’d lived in the human world for years. He liked the freedom of making his feelings known without language. That also meant being able to surprise Dragon Kings, who never expected such animation from their own kind. “You’ve been too distracted. At best, you’ve been successful and I’ll find out soon enough.  But I think you suffer from the illusion you’ve created. How many would know your genuine call of distress?”

He  shifted  onto his knees before  leaning down to kiss her cheek. Softly. Innocently.  The touch was nothing more  impassioned  than a man might bestow on a sister.

The telltale  hitch of her unsteady  breath  gave her away, despite  how quickly she reclaimed  her compo- sure. He smiled. How often were Indranan surprised?

She smelled of the thin, cold Himalayan wind. She was warm beneath his lips when he kissed her again—an impression  he could trust. Her shiver was honest, too. The  Sun would’ve concealed  that  weakness  had she been able.

“My seaxes didn’t intimidate you as much as when I held your waist,” he whispered  against her temple. “Violence won’t keep your mind occupied. But I can.”

He traced his tongue along the line of her jaw. His stir of reaction was not surprising. His people had always been base and earthy, and she’d been tempting him for years. Now . . .

Now he knew how she tasted.

“I intend  to use every method  I can to make sure your thoughts remain right here, in this tent. With me.”

This man, Tallis, was as intimidating  as he was impos- sible to understand. He spoke in riddles. Being unable to skim his thoughts was pure frustration, like attempt- ing to see through  granite  or hear a pin drop halfway around  the world. She’d tried  to find her bodyguards among a multitude of Indranan thoughts, but so many wore Masks—mental distortion blocks to protect them from being detected by prowling siblings.

Even if she had found them, Kavya couldn’t jeopar- dize the tranquility of the assembly. To do so now would bring about Tallis’s dreadful  scenario: the failure of all she’d worked toward for decades.

Her mind raced. Her wrists and ankles ached. And her lips burned  with the touch of this stranger’s kiss.

Tallis was different.  Frighteningly  different.

A mind I can’t read.

She shouted  into his brain until her gift retaliated with a walloping headache. She’d have been better served by smacking her forehead  against the ground. Trying to compensate with her senses was nearly use- less. Who of her clan needed  them?

All they really needed  was a Dragon-forged sword to kill . . . or a Mask to hide.

Every Indranan was born  as a twin or, in Kavya’s case, as a triplet. Siblings grew up knowing that the Dragon had divvied up their true potential in the womb. Learn to share. So few did. By committing  fratricide, the Indranan could unite fractured  pieces into a whole. Some called them twice-blessed, although twice-cursed was more accurate. Murderous twins carried with them the screams of the departed.

The ability to read another’s mind was the most in- toxicating, terrifying gift among the Five Clans. To keep from wanting more was the ultimate responsibility.

The Heartless.

Kavya had never protested the derogatory nickname. She’d simply fought to rise above that hideous legacy.

Her fight at the moment centered on Tallis. With his face tilted down and decorated with a maddening smile, he was as solid in body as he was opaque of mind. She’d suspected that he hid strength under unassuming cloth- ing and a lean fighter’s frame. She hadn’t known how that strength  would feel, pressed  intimately along her silk-clad hip as they’d walked through  the valley.

Now he knelt before her. Body to body. Heat against heat.

He was holding her.

He’d slipped his hands beneath  the long sleeves of her sari and cupped  her restrained arms. His fingers were warm, blunt, strong. When was the last time she’d been graced by anything more than reverent  touches? This was prolonged contact. This was calluses against smooth skin. Because she couldn’t read his mind, she compensated with a desperate scramble for information.

He smelled of dust and juniper. He was a foot taller.

He had eyes the color of the sea at its darkest depths, but not the Indian  Ocean—some  frigid, azure waste- land.

Kavya’s attention kept  slipping  back to him.  She couldn’t even find Chandrani, her best friend and closest ally since childhood. Chandrani  was the only person who knew Kavya’s mind  without  its Mask—the  only person except for Pashkah. Without the Masks she’d worn since the age of twelve, Kavya would’ve been  at her brother’s mercy. If he succeeded in killing her, Pash- kah would become something unholy.

This stranger  knew how he was affecting her and had piercingly guessed that violence was a fact of life for Kavya, as it was for every Indranan. She’d spent her adolescence in the rough cubbies and alleys of Delhi. A girl didn’t survive places so perilous without witnessing terrible things and developing protective skills. The net result was that to be threatened by a blade—even  one as intimidating as his seax—had nothing on the distraction of being held.